The wind cut through my jacket while I wrestled with stubborn lug nuts. My fingers went numb fast. The man tried to crouch beside me but winced, rubbing his swollen hands. “Arthritis,” he muttered. “Can’t grip like I used to.”
“I’ve got it,” I said. “Please don’t worry.” His wife explained they’d tried calling their son, but their phone wouldn’t connect. They were beginning to fear they’d be stuck there until nightfall.
Eventually, the nuts loosened. I replaced the tire and tightened everything down, my hands burning from the cold. When I stood up, the man grasped my hand warmly. “You and your little girl saved us today,” he said, his voice thick with emotion.
Back in the car, Maisie gave me a proud thumbs-up. “That was really kind, Daddy,” she said. I smiled. “Couldn’t leave them out there.”
We arrived at my parents’ house safely, and Thanksgiving unfolded in its usual chaos—Dad dramatically carving the turkey, Mom scolding him, Maisie dropping a dinner roll and declaring it still edible. By the end of the night, the couple on the highway had slipped from my mind.
A week later, I was making Maisie’s lunch when my phone rang. “Dawson!” my mom blurted the second I answered. “Turn on the TV right now!”
“What’s going on?”
“Just turn it on!” I grabbed the remote. And there they were—the same elderly couple—sitting in a news studio under a banner that read: Local Couple Shares Thanksgiving Miracle. My jaw dropped.
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